


bad blood

by Norachandrabbles



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Symbolism, poetic prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norachandrabbles/pseuds/Norachandrabbles
Summary: Where Kuroo is afraid of what’s to come and Kenma’s determined to change the world.





	bad blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hello @azmco!! This is Nora, your secret Santa for this year! I'm sorry I couldn't finish this earlier since I'm still going through my finals week but I hope you'll enjoy this little piece. All the love and luck for you, let's hope 2018 will bring you the best! ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ

Curtains drop and everyone returns to where they belong apart from the two brave souls.

The king reaches for the golden arch placed on top of his clumsily tied aurous hair. He wants to get rid of the obligations this arch brings; a commitment that transcends centuries, an unavoidable bond that is shared by blood. Much to his dismay, only the heaviness of the crown is lifted off of his shoulders. His amber eyes skim the throne room, knowing where to land eventually but prolonging the inescapable confrontation. He slowly parts his lips, not knowing how to address the raven-haired boy that has kneeled before him. No one else is in the room, the cold, stone walls have sworn to protect any type of sound to be formed and keep the words in their secrecy till the end of time, however the frames that define their places so well to a point that it's impossible to get rid of them.

Nevertheless, the king is ready to brave the war.

“I want you here.”

“Yet you aren’t willing to walk the mile.”

“How come you are so sure?” is the last breath escapes from the king’s lungs. The armor shines in the darkness, so polished and protective, finely shaped and not letting others know what’s hidden beneath. Apples fall on the ground as the king takes firm but small steps towards his lionheart. “ _The weight of my authority,_ ” he thinks, “ _is heavier than than anybody thinks. However today, I’m not hiding behind its massive body._ ”

All the apples roll around on the naked stone floor, so fragrant and bright blue. “Befitting of the king,” the lionheart muses, “our king, the holy.” The king is careful walking among them, feeling each and every one’s shape underneath his soles. The waves wash away the doubts along with the stars in the sky, rendering the dome clean.

The king crosses the line with his sheer power, crashing down the last barricade the lionheart put in between. His blue war paint glimmers in the night, accentuating the fierceness in his features. “ _I’m scared,_ ” the lionheart shivers, “ _will I be eaten alive?_ ”

The king forms a carafe and raises it in the air, pouring water in the space between. Golden butterflies emerge from the small pond, molding into a halo around the lionheart’s head. The lionheart is terrified yet there’s no backing away from the elegant scenery. “My king, ” he breaths, “set me free from this grace. I am not worthy of your gaze, as I am merely a humble servant like many, I -”

The king shushes him, fingertip warm against his lips. “ _The heat,_ ” lionheart quivers with his whole body in response, “ _mediates throughout my soul._ ”

When the king’s palms close in, finally in contact with the skin, the lionheart instinctively leans in, his body numb and his mind forgetful of his place in this century. Lips chapped, greedy and impatient for the faintest touch of a knuckle or a graze of a nail. He only hears the melody pouring out of the king, solely for lionheart’s ears to hear. And he surrenders, gives himself into the fiery essence of the king’s beautiful hair.

Little lights start to flicker suddenly, as if someone lit every candle in the throne room all at once. Stars descend one by one, taking their places above their heads, forming constellations and leading their way in the pitch black room. The king parts his lips, inhaling the distance ruthlessly separating them. “ _Here it comes,_ ” the lionheart awaits, “ _the peacedrums within me are never going to stop._ ”

Both hear the footsteps of the century behind their backs, distant and deep at first, then roaring like a hungry demon who has captured his prey, victorious and righteous. “ Don’t mind them,” the king orders, voice austere, contrasting the soft smile formed on his face, “if you do, we’ll be buried alive.”

The lionheart sees it, the determination in his king’s eyes, burning like wild birds. He wants to believe in his king, with all his heart this time, no barrens hold. And in that instant, the lionheart transforms, turns into something bold, something that can endure, something that can protect. His iron claws dig deep in time’s veins, teeth clashing with the spears thrown at them. This time, it’s lionheart’s turn to take a step forward.

“I want you alive, ” the king begs, reaching out to grab the lionheart’s mane in despair but the lionheart is already gone, dissolved into the crowd gulping down the castle as whole. Droplets of ruby taint the king’s yukata as he sheds tears, fury dripping from his face and swearing revenge.

 

* 

 

_“But no one leaves. -Let us set out once more on our native roads, burdened with my vice, that vice that since age of reason has driven roots of suffering into my side- that towers to heaven, beats me, hurls me down, drags me on._

_Ultimate innocence, final timidity. All's said. Carry no more my loathing and treacheries before the world._

_Come on! Marching, burdens, the desert, boredom and anger._

_Hire myself to whom? What beasts adore? What sacred images destroy? What hearts shall I break? What lie maintain? - Through what blood wade?_

_Better to keep away from justice. - A hard life, outright stupor, - with a dried-out fist to lift the coffin lid, lie down, and suffocate. No old age this way, no danger: terror is very un-French."_

**Author's Note:**

> Whew... I was able to finish... The image I had in mind for this piece was the impossible relationship between the king Kenma and his knight Kuroo. Kenma is brave and encourages Kuroo to be vocal about his feelings for Kenma, and Kuroo finally complies, yet the society is not ready for Kuroo's openness and well... the angst. :,(
> 
> The last paragraph is taken from Arthur Rimbaud's Bad Blood, from A Season in Hell.
> 
> Find me at my Tumblr for more!! @norachandrabbles


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